Good Tidings We Bring
by AgentNoSmile
Summary: Hotch/Reid Christmas Fic Exchange gift for KuriaDalmatia Happy holidays everyone! Hotch has suggested a family Christmas to Spencer, that means their mothers are coming, and to Spencer, that spells disaster. Will it be a very merry Christmas, or will it be ho-ho-hopeless?


DECEMBER 23RD

"Put on that Harry Connick Junior CD!" Spencer hollered through the halls of the house he shared with Aaron Hotchner. Hotch smiled and shook his head fondly, picking Spencer's Christmas favourite from the shelf. He turned up the volume as 'It Must Have Been Ol' Santa Claus' rang through the spacious rooms of their makeshift personal womb. Spencer smiled as he heard the familiar tones of the song, and looked forlornly at the collection of gifts he still had to wrap. When he had agreed to a family Christmas, he had expected a complete disaster from minute one; these thoughts had become more and more inborn as the hours began their countdown. His mother was flying in, with her key-worker on this very day; there was no turning back now. Hotch's mother had disappeared earlier in the morning, the tension between her and her son a little tense; it had unnerved Spencer, but Hotch still seemed unfazed by the familiar icy demeanor of the elder woman who had given him life. Spencer had bought her what he considered now to be nonsensical a gift, but Hotch had calmed his irrational fears, as he always did. He was a different man when he was away from the office; kind, loving, supportive, funny. Spencer had fallen for both sides of his boss early on, but never developed the courage to speak up and let his words float on the air, to the ears of a man he had no knowledge of, in retrospect.

Spencer hurried into the kitchen and scanned the cupboards. He'd purchased a selection of delicious ingredients from the store, and he hoped dearly that between himself and Hotch, they had the culinary finesse to pull off Christmas dinner. He had another two days to psyche himself up for the big feast, but he had reached the inevitable first hurdle today; the Christmas cake. The dilemma he had, was that he had never tasted Christmas cake, let alone made it. Hotch had been astounded when Spencer had laid this revelation upon him, and he had insisted he made his first one this year. Hotch had ran out and bought a pre-made cake and a Christmas recipe book and scurried on home. He had then gently slipped a sliver of the rich fruit cake into Spencer's mouth with a smile. He recalled the dash of brandy, intertwined with the richness of raisin, cherry and sweet, white frosting.

He turned the stove up to one hundred and eighty, and exhaled slowly. He pulled out a ceramic mixing bowl, wooden spoon, cake tin, whisk, measuring jug and piping tools, as well as all of the ingredients. He measured out each ingredients meticulously, determined not to screw it up. He blended the ingredients in the glass mixing bowl, forcing them together in a fast waltz. His soft brown eyes darted from the mixing bowl, to the recipe book and back again. He poured the thick concoction into the cake tin, which he had taken a moment to grease beforehand. He dipped his pinky finger into the mixture and licked it, to check the hint of brandy he had added was not overpowering. He smiled as the mixture melted on his tongue. Not bad at all he thought to himself as he slid the cake tin gingerly onto the middle shelf of the piping hot oven. He closed it up and slid himself down to the floor, his head and back resting against the cabinets. He set the timer on his phone to go off exactly thirty five minutes from then, and smiled as Hotch walked through the door;

"How's the great cake coming along?" he smiled and jumped up to the counter to sit with his legs hanging over the edge. Spencer pointed to the oven with its orange glow emanating from it;

"It's baking as we speak," he grinned, and stood up to lean across the counter. He stole a quick kiss from his lips, and wrapped his arms around the older man's waist.

"Is the She-Devil back yet?" Hotch frowned, his hazel eyes shifting at the uncomfortable topic of his mother.

"Not yet, and don't call her that Aaron," Spencer matched Hotch's frown. Hotch raised his eyebrows at this defiant defense of the woman who did not do a thing to stop his abusive father;

"What? Shall I call her Mommy Dearest, give her a cup of tea and a hug?" he hadn't meant to sound so abrasive and he shook his head with a gentle sigh. Spencer retorted;

"It was YOUR idea to have a 'family Christmas' if I recall," he folded his arms like a teenager and pouted. Hotch stroked the nape of Spencer's neck lovingly;

"I know Lamb, I'm sorry. It was a mistake," he spoke softly and with reproach.

"We'll have to make do, Jack was so excited to see her Spencer; I can't deny my little boy He's lost so much already. I know you'd do the same for your son, he always asks when he's going to see Grandma, so last week I just blurted out that she was coming to Christmas. What could I do then? I couldn't go back on my word," Hotch's remorseful gaze met only the floor, and there was a short pause before Spencer added decidedly;

"We'll make do with what we have, and make it a Christmas to remember for all the right reasons," he rested his head upon Hotch's chest and curled his fingers in a loving grasp around his waist once again. The timer chimed signaling the completion of the oven's gestation of the cake. Spencer turned and slipped on the oven glove, opening the scorching door carefully. He gently lifted the browned and glistening cake from its temporary home and laid it upon the cooling rack.

"Not bad, not bad at all," Hotch grinned and jumped down to have a closer look. He reached out to pull a minute sliver from the corner but received only a sharp slap on his hand;

"Hey! Are you a child? wait until it's finished!" Spencer chuckled at the hurt bunny look on his lover's face.

"Sorry, I just wanted a taste," he spoke morosely, but with a sarcastic undertone he rolled his eyes and smirked

"I'll leave you alone to finish your masterpiece Michelangelo," he smirked and strolled out of the kitchen as Spencer threw a tea towel at his head and rolled his eyes, chuckling to himself.

He first made up a bowl of marzipan from scratch, then he mixed up a fresh batch of butter cream frosting, splitting the mixture into two separate bowls. To the first he added red colorant, to the second green, and the marzipan he left untouched, virgin white. He spread the white marzipan covering over the entire cake, smoothing and sculpting until it was as glorious as a field of untouched snow. He poured the red butter cream into the piping bag, and leaving adequate space for the green, piped delicate red flowers around the outside of the cake. He continued with the green until he was content with his efforts. For the piece de resistance, he rolled out some pre-packed marzipan, red, yellow and green and began sculpting golden bells with red ribbons, sprigs of holly which he placed in concentric circles and central precision. When he was done, he stood back and grinned widely;

"Aaron! I've finished the cake!"

DECEMBER 24TH

Diana Reid, and her key worker Maria Trenton, had arrived late the day before, describing the inevitable delays of flying so close to Christmas. Diana had been lucid thus far, and Spencer had prayed they could make it to the twenty sixth without incident. He felt it wouldn't be much of a stretch, considering she had support, a guard to ensure she took her medicine, and she was in familiar company. He had learned over the years that his mother's paranoid condition was at its worst around strangers. He had waited on bated breath as Hotch's mother had approached her; she had never met her before, and it was a prime time for her paranoid delusions to manifest, and make a home in the nest of the social situation. He had stood in understandable shock, as he watched his mother embrace Laura Hotchner in festive spirit, and inherent closeness. When he had broached the subject with her as the sipped coffee in the living room, she had added calmly;

"I love and I trust Aaron as I do my own son, and she begat the love of his life; how could she be a conspirator?" It was these lucid breakthroughs, that made Spencer feel bittersweet; for she would not remember these musings when the cloak of delusion wrapped fearfully around her.

Jack had returned from a Christmas sleepover at around noon that day, and he was chattering in excitement, showing off the new fire truck he'd acquired from JJ, Will and Henry. Everyone had smiled and indulged in his charming display of childhood exuberance. It was around four in the afternoon, when Diana and Maria had returned; they had been vague and evasive about their plans, and Spencer had noticed a little twinkle in his mother's eye as she had left the house. Now that she had returned, she was more gleeful than he had ever recalled seeing her, but still she gave away nothing.

"Aaron, if you don't mind, I'd like to give Jack his Christmas present now. I couldn't exactly wrap it up, there's laws against that I think," she smirked wryly, and disappeared out into the yard and returned with Maria, who was carrying a rather large box with holes in the top of it. Hotch narrowed his eyes, and then smiled thinly, as the realization of the gift dawned upon him. He looked at Spencer, who shared that realization, and also now, his mother's gleeful eye twinkle. Jack bounded over;

"Oh Daddy! Please can I open it now? It's Christmas Eve!" he pleaded, a small amount of whine in his voice. Hotch pretended to consider the proposal, and sighed as if he wasn't impressed;

"Well...I suppose we can bend the rules just this once buddy," he ruffled his son's sandy locks as he clapped joyfully;

"Thank you Daddy!" he closed his arms around his father's waist, like a boa constrictor, and then dropped to his knees in front of the box. He opened the lid and he squealed with unadulterated joy.

"A puppy!" he gasped and picked the bewildered Dalmatian puppy out of the box. Everyone cooed and stroked the little bundle, who was now yapping and wagging his tail frantically.

"Can I call him Gizmo, Daddy?" Jack looked up at his father.

"I think that's a great name buddy," Hotch smiled and ruffled his son's hair. He stood up from the floor and walked into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and took out the carton of egg nog he'd bought last minute, the day before. He reached into the chestnut colored cabinet and pulled out five long-stemmed glasses, and commenced to open the carton. He turned, as he heard footsteps behind him on the hardwood floor; they belonged to his mother. He nodded stiffly in acknowledgment of her presence and turned back to his aforementioned task.

"Aaron...I," his mother began, her voice strained, she sighed;

"I'm sorry," she uttered simply.

"For what? Not doing anything to stop him? Or for staying with him for so long?" he spoke thinly, and with little aggression; he had grown weary of despise.

"For it all. I was scared, I didn't think I deserved better; I knew you did though. I can't take away your childhood, give you back the twenty one years he tainted, but maybe...maybe we can fix this bridge between us. I know it's merely kindling, at this point, but you're my son, my eldest son...and I want to reach you again," she blinked a few tears from her crystal blue eyes, and looked at the back of her son's head, willing him to turn around.

"I've been so angry, for so long; my history is in part what turned me into the man I am today. I am strong, determined, marred by stoicism, but I am wise. I know, and have for a long time, that it is foolish to despise you for his torment; how were you to protect me from him? He was as cruel to you as he was me; I was selfish, and I was unfair, but I don't know how to let that go, no matter how childish it is to hold on to. I suppose what I'm saying is; can you forgive me?" Hotch turned his head around, not yet able to meet the gaze of his mother's teary face; his own tear-tracked and rosy. He had laid himself bare for once in his life; walked out onto the tight rope without a net and he swallowed all trace of guilt and shame, the moment his mother leaned forward and closed him in a tight hug. Spencer smiled from the door way, a happy tear falling from his eye. Hotch smiled at hi, through his own tears. Spencer mouthed 'I'm proud of you' to his lover before turning and walking into the living room once more. Hotch and Laura broke from their embrace and smiled;

"Merry Christmas Mother," he poured a glass of eggnog for himself and handed her one, they clinked their glasses against one another;

"Merry Christmas Aaron," she smiled.

"This isn't all magically fixed you know; I'm willing to try, but that's the most I can offer," Hotch said clearing his throat and sipping his drink.

"That alone means the world to me; it's a Christmas miracle," she smiled and rested her hand atop her son's. Hotch twitched a smile, and turned to pour the remaining glasses of eggnog and he carried them into the living room;

"Who's for eggnog?" he smiled.

DECEMBER 25TH

Spencer and Hotch woke with a start; they both shared the same trigger for this rude awakening; Jack was bouncing wildly on the bed;

"It's Christmas! It's Christmas!" He jabbered excitedly. Spencer and Hotch couldn't help but smile;

"Yes it is, did you see if Santa came yet?" Spencer sat up and grinned as Jack gasped wide-eyed;

"Oh do you think he has Spencer?" he jumped off the bed, and scuttled out the door like a field mouse on the run from a merciless cat, and bounded down the stairs.

"Come back to bed," Hotch smiled sleepily and pulled his lover's hand;

"Don't you want to go down and open presents with Jack?" he raised an eyebrow;

"Yes, but first I want to kiss my boyfriend, okay Lamb?" he smiled thinly and pulled Spencer close to him, locking him into a sensual kiss. Spencer sighed as he fell into the familiar nirvana he felt when he was in the arms of his lover. Hotch stroked the hair from Spencer's eyes as he kissed him deeply; they jumped in shock, when they saw Diana stood in the door way, with her head tipped to one side, a smirk on her face;

"Spencer, I'm just wondering, you know that doors can be closed don't you? You young, red-blooded men, can't think about anything else can you? Breakfast and presents with the family, you can fornicate later," she smiled smugly as Spencer rolled his eyes, and sighed like a teenager, before climbing off the bed. Hotch laughed;

"Don't fret Lamb, I have a surprise for you later," he smiled, with a devilish grin and a twinkle in his eye.

"Now boys," Diana clicked her fingers and pointed to the stairs.

One by one, Diana, Maria, Hotch and Spencer, made their way downstairs. Hotch felt his heart sinews tug, as he saw his little boy sat cross-legged next to the Christmas tree, almost bursting with excitement, and desperation to open his presents. Gizmo was running around hin circles, jumping and wagging his tail inanely. He disappeared under the Christmas tree, the only sound that could be heard was a rustling noise, Jack wandered over to his dad and giggled, as he watched the little puppy. Before anyone could move, Gizmo had grabbed the string of Christmas lights, at the bottom and he tugged, edging backwards as he did. He was only a small puppy, but he had seen it as no mean feat, sending the six foot Christmas tree careening into the group.

They looked up from their new positions, under a giant tree, what a sight they looked! Five adults and a child, sprawled beneath a Christmas tree, and a little spotted puppy upon the branches, the string of lights, still innocently in his mouth. Jack giggled, a pure and beautiful sound, followed by Spencer, then Diana and Maria, the Laura and Aaron; the six of them laughed until their tummies hurt, Aaron eventually pushed the tree to the side and helped everyone up. He smiled at the family before him, and they smiled back just like a family portrait, only their smiles were genuine. He clasped the hands of Spencer and of Jack, and he looked from one face to another;

"Merry Christmas, everyone," he smiled;

"Now let's get these presents open," he grinned, and Jack whooped with glee. Diana gasped and walked to the window, her eyes glassy and her smile comforting;

"Look! It's snowing!" she spoke with childlike innocence. They all turned and walked to the window to join her;

"Can we make a snowman, Daddy?" Jack piped up;

"After dinner, if there's enough snow," he grinned and leaned his head upon Spencer's shoulder and watched the flakes of snow fall with velocity, each one searching for an empty spot of ground to cover; they watched, and in their quiet contemplation, each one realised; that this was truly, the most magical Christmas, they had ever had.

"Hadn't you better start burning the turkey?" Hotch mocked, with a loving smile.


End file.
